


always & forever

by bellakink (theoneinquisitor)



Series: the 100 kink meme 2019 [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Marriage, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 04:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19201984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneinquisitor/pseuds/bellakink
Summary: There are certain things Clarke does when she wants something specific to happen. Codes, for lack of better term. For instance, “I’m not wearing underwear,” means: “I want to fuck in public.” Or something along those lines.





	always & forever

**Author's Note:**

> For the kink meme prompt: Like they're at a bar with all their friends and Clarke is sitting in Bellamy's lap and no one realizes he's playing with her ass. BP for quick alleyway/bathroom fuck after once Clarke has had enough of his teasing.
> 
> I definitely forgot to post this way back when, so please enjoy some newlywed bathroom fucking :)

Bellamy meets Clarke much like he meets other women: at a bar with the intention of fucking them senseless and sending them on their way. Relationships have never been a  _ thing  _ for him, and he’s certain there are some weird daddy issues involved with his aversion to commitment, but then he meets Clarke and everything he thought he knew flies out the window. Like suddenly, he finds himself wishing to be a monogamous man. 

 

He takes her home that night, expecting to do what he normally does: eat her out, because he knows he’s good at it and he at least has the decency to make sure the girl comes first, put her on her knees and let her suck his dick until he’s good and ready, flip her over and fuck her from behind. It works for everyone, he’s rarely had complaints. Except, Clarke wasn’t having any of that  _ submissive bullshit,  _ as she so called it.

 

She shoved him into the nearest hard surface, got on her knees, and asked him to fuck her mouth until he filled it with his come, with the added request that he pull her hair and tell her how good she was. He’s normally a talker during sex, a big fan of praise, but he could hardly get a word in between the moans she was tearing from his chest and the shit she was saying. He came down her throat in less than five minutes, which was somewhat embarrassing for him because he’s a man who prides himself on stamina, but she took his cock like no other woman had done before— did this thing with her tongue that he’s almost certain caused him to ascend to the astral plane.  _ Holy shit.  _

 

With no time to rest, he returned the favor to her, eating her out for a solid twenty minutes, feeling somewhat smug when he got her to come twice. By the time he was done, he was more than ready for round two and that’s when she shoved him onto the floor and climbed on top of him, and rode his dick like it was her fucking job. God, she looked amazing. Tits bouncing, head tossed back. He’d like to say his stamina held up this time around, but then she leaned down and said, “I want to feel your come inside me for days after this, baby.” and he came  _ immediately.  _

 

She was so different than anyone he had ever been with. Demanding. Stubborn. Sexy. It’s like he was experiencing what sex was meant to be like for the first time. Rather than fucking to get off, he was fucking for pure pleasure — yes, getting off was the end goal, but he found himself having fun. 

 

So when they finished, he didn’t send her home. Instead he invited her to shower and to stay over, something he hadn’t done in years, not since his ex. And then they went three more rounds, each one longer than the last, before the sun came up and once more before she left to go to work— from where she sent him a picture of her two fingers deep in her pussy from the office bathroom with the caption  _ thinking of you ;).  _

 

Needless to say, exactly one week later, he was begging her to go on a date with him. He was, and still is, at her mercy. 

 

And now, she’s made an honest man out of him. 

 

The ring still feels strange on his finger, a weight he’s not quite used to having. The wedding is quiet, just a quick ceremony in St. Thomas with their closest friends. It wasn’t exactly planned— neither the proposal or the wedding. They had talked about marriage before, but mostly in passing and definitely not as a real possibility any time soon. 

 

But then, they’re lying on a beach in paradise with their friends and she’s burying him in the sand with this giddy expression on her face, like she’s won the lottery and the thought hits him just like that. He could spend the rest of his life seeing her smile, hearing her laugh. 

 

It’s not quite romantic, his entire body from the shoulders down currently underneath the sand. But he says he name and the moment she looks at him, he smiles, “Marry me.” 

 

To be honest, he had expected her to laugh at him. Maybe roll her eyes and make a joke out of it while possibly burying the rest of him as punishment for even joking about it. 

 

Instead she beams, leaning down to kiss him gently on his sun-dried lips. “Okay.” 

 

It happened quickly after that. 

 

They were married on the beach by a local priest, their rings bought at a small boutique on the boardwalk. The marriage isn’t  _ legal,  _ not until they get their marriage license from the courthouse back home, but it feels just as real. Their friends stood next to them, which is all they could have asked for, and he’s almost certain he saw Raven cry, something he thought nearly impossible. 

 

The ceremony ends and it’s after a handful of photos that Miller pops a bottle of champagne and shouts, “Time to celebrate, bitches!” 

 

Everyone seems ready to party, not that they needed this excuse to do so. They go through two bottles of champagne before they even leave the beach  and by the time they’re squeezing into an Uber, most of them are already borderline drunk.

 

Not him, though. He could celebrate by getting wasted, sure. But he’d rather fuck his  _ wife.  _ He whispers as much in her ear and grins to himself when her cheeks go red. 

 

They end up at a place aptly named ‘Duffy’s Love Shack’, a crowded outdoor bar and grill with amazing food and cheap cocktails. It’s busy, as to be expected for a Saturday, and the music is extra loud. They find a table out on the patio.

 

“I’m going to go change,” Clarke shouts into his ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek. She’s still in her ceremony dress, long and lacey and gorgeous, and though he would absolutely love for her to keep it on, he knows their friends have a tendency to spill things when they drink and she doesn’t want to ruin it. 

 

“Let’s go, wifey!” Raven smacks her ass, following her to the bathroom with a bag thrown over her shoulder. Bellamy watches them disappear with a grin, because damn, he’s a lucky son of a bitch. 

 

“Shots!” Murphy returns to the table with a tray, lying it down with concentrated ease so as not to spill anything. He hands one to Bellamy as the other’s grab their greedily. “You’re fucking married, dude!” 

 

“Hell got a little colder today,” Miller comments with a clap on his shoulder. 

 

He’s nursing a second shot when Clarke returns. He pulls her to his lap because, fuck, she’s so beautiful. She’s changed into another dress, a blue sundress that hits her mid-thigh and hugs her curves in all the right places. She let her hair down so it’s hanging in loose curls down her back, just like he likes it. 

 

She kisses him gently, pulling back in faux hurt. “Did you start without me?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“You’re a bad boy, Mr. Blake.”

 

He hums, nuzzling into her neck and pressing his lips to her pulse point. “You gonna punish me, Mrs. Blake?” 

 

“Here I was hoping you would punish me.”

 

“Have you been bad, baby?” 

 

She reaches for a shot, clinking her glass with Harper before tossing it back. She turns in his lap, burying her nose into the crook of his neck. “I’m not wearing underwear.” 

 

There are certain things Clarke does when she wants something specific to happen. Codes, for lack of better term. For instance,  _ I’m not wearing underwear  _ means  _ I want to fuck in public.  _ Or something along those lines. 

 

He slides his hand underneath the hem of her dress, running his thumb along her upper thigh before reaching around to cup her ass. He glances over at Monty, who is the only one whose line of sight isn’t blocked by the table, but he is engrossed in some debate with Murphy and Shaw, completely oblivious to Bellamy’s traveling hand. 

 

Clarke adjusts herself on his lap to give him better access, sitting on the edge of his knee and pretending to be interested in something Raven is saying. He runs his finger along her slit, grinning as he feels how wet she already is. She loves when he touches her in public, loves the thrill of it all. He slides his finger against her clit, rubbing slow circles into it as she continues to talk, her voice surprisingly even. 

 

The position, however, grows uncomfortable for him fairly quickly and he slides his hand back to work out the cramp. She grinds her ass against him, and he thinks she’s scolding him for stopping. Except, she does it again and it’s then he realizes what she wants. He slides his hand back to her ass, kneading it gently before allowing his finger to trace along her crack. She sits up a little straighter, anticipating the feel of him. He reaches in front of her quickly, slicking his finger up with her arousal before sliding back to her asshole and tracing it gently. 

 

Her voice falters slightly and he applies a little more pressure with each circle. She presses into him automatically, one of her hands gripping his knee. He finally enters with one finger, just a shallow dip of his index finger,  and she clenches around him. He continues that motion, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible. Clarke picks up another shot and downs it, giving him the opportunity to go a little deeper. He grins when she lets out a moan. 

 

“I just love tequila,” she plays it off. 

 

“Me too!” Harper agrees, lifting her drink with a loud whoop. 

 

At this point he’s concentrating completely on Clarke’s ass, so when Monty turns to him to ask a question, he doesn’t hear him at first. 

 

“Bellamy?’ he says again and Bellamy’s finger stills. 

 

“Hm?” 

 

“How does it feel to be married?”

 

He removes his finger from her hole to slick it up once more before returning it. He clears his throat. “Oh, uh, I don’t really think it’s hit me yet.” 

 

He feels her loosen up and decides to add another finger slowly. Her breath hitches when he does, fingers gripping his knee so hard he thinks she might shatter his knee cap. He keeps talking. 

 

“But when you know, you know, right? Like before Clarke, I never even wanted to date. Never cared to.” 

 

Monty smiles. He sees Clarke turn her head, cheeks red with the mix of alcohol and arousal. He continues, pumping in and out of her ass as he talks. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and being married is just proof of that.” 

 

Clarke stands abruptly, causing Bellamy’s hands to shoot into his lap to cover the raging hard-on he’d been sporting since he started touching her. Monty, thankfully, is looking at Clarke with a worried expression rather than the evidence that something had definitely been happening next to him. 

 

“You okay?” he asks. 

 

“Yeah,” she says, breathless, “I just need to go to the bathroom.”

 

Bellamy coughs, the movement allowing him to adjust himself without being obvious. She turns and gives him a look, one he reads as  _ if you don’t meet me in the next two minutes, I’ll murder you.  _ So he waits the appropriate minute or so, before excusing himself to the bathroom as well. He’s sure they’ll figure out what’s happening within minutes, but he doesn’t care. 

 

He wants to fuck his wife. 

 

He makes his way to the back hall, knocking on the shaded door softly. The door opens and Clarke is pulling him in by the collar, slamming the door shut and pinning him to it. 

 

“I swear to God,” she growls at him, reaching down to unbuckle his belt. Her hands are clumsy, but she manages to get it undone and she’s got her hand down his pants just as quick. She fists his cock in her hands, warm and soft, and he twitches against her. 

 

“You’re such a dirty girl,” he smirks, “Letting me play with your ass while our friends are right there.” He slides up her dress, laying a light smack on her ass as he says it. She tilts her head back with a moan and he wastes no time latching on to her pretty throat. He sucks into it, knowing it’s going to leave a mark and not caring because this is his  _ wife.  _

 

“I need you inside me  _ now, _ ” she demands, pulling his cock free from his slacks. He pushes off the door and backs her into the wall, hiking her leg up past his hip and lining up with her entrance. She tangles her hands in his hair as he pushes in. He groans as he bottoms out, her cunt clenching tightly around his cock. No matter how many times they do this, it never gets old. The feel of her on him, the sounds she makes. She’s fucking perfect, her cunt made for his cock and his cock alone. 

 

He crashes his lips to hers, licking into her mouth. Their kisses are sloppy. Hot. With his free hand he palms roughly at her tits, pinching her nipples through the fabric. She moans into his mouth, arching into him as he fucks her. 

 

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Always feel so good.” 

 

“More, Bell,” she demands, “I need more.”

 

He lets his hand drop to her waist before curving around her ass and lifting her off the ground. He uses the wall as leverage as she wraps her legs around his waist. “Like that?”

 

“Yes! God, yes! I love your cock, babe. Filling me up like that, please don’t stop.”

 

He picks up the pace, slamming into her so hard he can hear the staccato of her breath as she hits the wall. Her nails dig into his back, heels into his ass. He reaches between them, finding her clit and beginning to rub the bundle of nerves. Her legs begin to shutter and her moans grow more high pitched with each thrust. 

 

“Can’t believe I get to fuck you like this for the rest of my life,” he growls into her ear, biting at her neck, “All mine, babe.”

 

“All yours,” she repeats, “Fuck, Bell, I’m so close.”

 

“I know you are,” he slows his pace, knowing how she likes to be slowly guided to her release, “Come for me, baby. Come for your husband.” 

 

“God, fuck!” her walls flutter around his cock, clenching down as though trying to hold him there forever. “I’m yours! Forever!” 

 

_ Forever.  _ The word sends a shock through his body and before he can draw it out, he comes inside her with her name on his tongue. His thrusts are erratic as she comes over with him, her moan echoing around the tile bathroom and he’s certain that anyone within a five mile radius could hear them because Jesus, the things that come out of her mouth. 

 

They sag against the wall, him remaining inside her for just a while longer, reveling in thought of having her like this until the end of time. She kisses his cheek gently as he lays his head on her chest, covered in a light sheen of sweat. She threads her fingers through his hair as their breathing returns to normal and when he finally lets her slide back to the ground, she lets out a soft whine. 

 

“As much as I want to stay here, babe, we have friends to entertain,” He jokes, tucking himself back into his slacks. 

 

She rolls her eyes but goes to the sink to wash her hands and freshen up. Her skin is flushed, red patches dotting her arms and neck. The place he had latched into earlier is already purpling into a bruise and he smirks. 

 

Her eyes find it in the mirror and she scowls at him, “What are we, teenagers?” 

 

He comes up behind her and pulls her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her waist and nipping playfully at the spot. “Just wanted to let everyone know you’re taken.”

 

She holds up her left hand, “I think this makes it pretty clear.” 

 

He reaches out with his left hand and threads their fingers together, the metal of their rings scraping against one another. They stare at their hands for a moment, the sight of their rings together causing something to stir within them both.

 

This is what love is supposed to be, he thinks. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed :)   
> Come hang on tumblr: octannibal-Blake   
> Come hang on twitter: @octannibalblake


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